The Truth of Yesterday (34 page)

     
“A what?”

     “It's a big piece of furniture, like a wardrobe. People kept their clothes in them before they started building in closets.”

     “How in the world did you know to look in there?”

     “I, uh, had a little help,” I said quickly before rushing on. “But the point is, I couldn't open it and I couldn't very well carry it out with Sabrina standing right there.”

     “That would have been a bad idea anyway. You don't want to remove evidence from the scene of the crime. Being in there in the first place is bad enough; taking stuff would be more than I could even away with. And who is Sabrina? Was she the chick with the gun?”

     “Yeah, she was a friend of Paul's.”

     “That scared the hell out of me. I didn't know what to do.”

     “It wasn't even a real gun.”

     “I didn't know that.”

     “Well, it's over now. What was your idea?”

     
“My idea?”

     
“For our new communication system?”

     
“Oh yeah.
Well, it's logical really, especially being the daughter of a cop. We need a pair of walkie-talkies.”

     I blinked. Why hadn't I thought of that? It seemed painfully obvious now that she's mentioned it. Then again, it did have its drawbacks. They were loud. Even if I turned it way down, if I could hear it, which I'd have to be able to do if it was to be useful, then someone could possibly hear it; and in a dangerous situation, that could be fatal. It would also be difficult to hide and when I'm trying to get someone who is already nervous to talk to me, a big official looking radio on my side might not inspire confidence, especially from the type of people I'd probably be talking to before this case was over. And then I had an even more brilliant idea.

     
“My cell phone!”
I exclaimed.

     “Huh?”

     “We can use cell phones! I already have one, we just to get you one. You could call and warn me if anything happened and it wouldn't even ring. I can just put it on vibrate. You can even put me on speed dial!”

     “I already have a cell phone, but it's at home.”

     I frowned. “I really wanted to go back in and get the safe tonight.”

     “Hello?” she said leaning over and knocking lightly on my forehead. “Is anyone home in there? Didn't you hear me say that you shouldn't be taking anything out of the apartment? It would be suicide. Why don't we just call the police and let them handle it?”

     “And say what? Oh, by the way, I just happened to be snooping around Paul Flynn's pad today and you won't believe what I found in the closet!”

     “It doesn't have to be like that. We could make an anonymous tip.”

     “And say what?”

     “You know, just say that we're a concerned friend and we know that Paul kept a safe in his closet. We can say we think there might be evidence in it. Or we could just tell my dad and let him handle it.”

     “Then I'll never know what was in it.”

     “We can find out. My dad knows people.”

     I hated to admit it, but I was beginning to think that she might be right. “Only one problem,” I said out loud.

     “And what's that?”

     I reached into my pocket and produced the key.

     “Please tell me that's not the key to the closet.”

     
“Afraid so.”

     
“Killian!
You didn't!”

     “I did. I can go put it back though.”

     She shook her head and sighed.
“Too risky.
It doesn't really matter. If they don't know about the key, they won't know that it's missing. And they aren't too likely to go looking for a hidden compartment in the armoire thingy; especially since they won't have the help you had.” She gave me a meaningful look, letting me know full well that subject wasn't yet closed. “They have ways of getting in that door without using a key.”

     “So what do we do? Anonymous call or tell your dad?”

     “Well, this isn't his precinct, but my dad knows some of the guys here. They're old buddies. I think he would know the best way to handle it.”

     “Won't he be mad that I went in there?”

     “He would be if I told him, which I don't plan on doing. I'll just tell him you discovered that the safe is there in the course of your investigation and that you suspect it might hold important evidence, which has the added bonus of being 100% true. You don't even have to lie.”

     “Except as far as not telling the whole truth is still considered lying by some people.”

     “Semantics,” she said waving her hand dismissively.

     “Ok, Clinton,” I laughed. “So we're telling your dad?”

     “I think so.”

     
“Fine.
Are you going to handle it on your own?”

     “Actually, if we're done for the day, why don't you come back with me? He wanted to meet you anyway.”

     “I guess we're pretty much done. Until I can find out how to get in touch with Paul's family or the guy that owns the escort agency Paul worked for, I don't really have anywhere else to go.”

     “So we're off to see my daddy?”

     
“Um, sure.”
I was a little nervous.
Chris
' father sounded a little authoritarian and authority figures tended to make me a little uncomfortable. A psychiatrist would probably say that was leftover baggage from my father. I would say they are probably right.

     “Don't worry,” she said, reading me like a book. “Dad's a big teddy bear, really.”

     
“Teddy bear.
Right.”

     
“Really!”

     She looped her arm through mine and started dragging me down the stairs. We let ourselves out of the building and headed for the Metro station. From there it was short trip to the neighborhood where she and her dad lived with her 12 year-old brother. Her mom had passed away a few years ago from cancer, she told me on the ride.

     They lived in a two story brownstone townhouse, like the ones I'd seen in Paul's old neighborhood, but not quite as nice. Still, it was well-kept and very welcoming.

     
Chris
let us in. “Dad?” she yelled at the top of her lungs.

     I took in the entry way while we waited for an answer. It was paneled with wood on the bottom part of the wall, old dark wood that held a patina that only comes from years of polishing. Above the paneling, the walls were painted white. A mirror hung over a small table by the door and an old-fashioned brass coat tree stood in the corner, bearing an assortment of outerwear, including a police uniform jacket. A carpet runner went down the hallway that ran next to the staircase leading up to the second floor. Doors opened up on the right and left here at the front of the hall and again farther down.

     “In here,” a man called back from the room to our left.

     She stuck her head in. “I have Killian with me,” she told him.

     “Well, don't make him stand in the hall! Come on in and have a seat.”

     “I didn't want to interrupt if you were busy,” she said, walking into the room and motioning me to follow.

     The room we entered was a cozy den-like room. A ratty old sofa sat facing a big screen TV with an equally beat-up looking recliner off to one side. Against the front wall, under the window overlooking the street, a large wooden desk had been set up and that was where
Chris
' father sat now. He was a big man, tall and broad shouldered with the beginnings of a beer belly. His short dark hair was beginning to gray and his pale blue eyes seemed tired, but kind. He pushed away a stack of papers he'd been working on and smiled a warm greeting in my direction.

     “I welcome the interruption. The problem with police work is there's too much damn paperwork. You must be Killian.”

     I shook his outstretched hand and smiled in return. “Yes sir. And trust me, Mr. Silver, there's plenty of paperwork in the private investigator business, too.”

     He laughed. “I don't doubt it.
And none of this Mr. Silver business.
Call me Louis. Have a seat.”

     I took a seat next to
Chris
on the sofa.

     “So how'd the first day on the case go,
Chris
tina?”

     “It went ok I guess. Mostly I stood around waiting.”

     “I told you most investigative work is hurry up and wait,” he said with a smile.

     I almost laughed at how much he sounded like Novak when he said that.

     “Still, we did manage to find out something that I think you might be able to help us with.”

     He raised his eyebrows questioningly.

     “Killian found out that Paul Flynn supposedly kept a safe in his bedroom closet and that may be what the killer was looking for when they ransacked the apartment.”

     
“Really?
Do the investigating officers know about this safe?”

     “I don't know. That's where we were hoping you'd help out. You can tell whoever is in charge of the case that you've heard about this safe. If they already know about it, no harm done, but if not then maybe you've given them a big clue.”

     “And in this job we just love when an officer from another precinct tells us how to conduct a case on our own turf.”

     “Oh come on, Dad. You aren't a bunch of street gangs in a turf war. Isn't the point to solve the crimes?”

     “I supposed I could pass this information along. And I suppose you want to know what's in the safe once they open it?”

     
Chris
beamed. “That would be wonderful.”

     He chuckled.
“Just like you're mother.
Consider it done, but remember, I can't guarantee anything.”

     “We understand, sir...er, I mean Louis,” I said.

     He turned his attention back to me. “So how is old Shane Novak these days?”

     “He's good.”

     “Is he keeping busy?”

     “Busier than he'd like, according to him, but really I don't think he'd have it any other way.”

     “You're right about that!” he laughed. “He was one hell of a cop, I can tell you that. You've got a good teacher when it comes to learning the investigative process.”

     “You don't have to tell me.”

     
“How about the home front?
Has he moved on after his wife's death?”

     “You're one to talk, Dad,”
Chris
interjected.

     “Hush,” he said, but his eyes were warm. “That's my business. I'm prying into Shane's right now.”

     I laughed. “I don't think he'd mind. He's been dating someone for a little while now. Her name is Judy.”

     “Have you met her?”